The Diary of Mischa Lecter
by ParanoidButterfly
Summary: This is my first Hannibal fanfic... and I think it sucks... and you probably won't like it... the title basically says it all...Mischa has survived and Hannibal has found her diary...
1. Default Chapter

  
Hey... this is the first Hannibal fanfic I've tried writing, so I'm not sure how well it will turn out...  
people say I'm a great writer, but IMO, I never seem to be the greatest at fanfics... oh well, if it  
doesn't interest you, maybe it'll at least amuse you... *shrugs*... it's not finished yet, so tell me if  
I should finish and post it... if I do, I promise it will get better... I already have an ending in mind  
;)... okie dokie? Sweet...  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own our Good Doctor or Clarice or Mischa... the Satines, Antonio, Michael,  
and all the other lovely characters that I may decide to add in most likely belong to me... but I'm  
figuring u already knew... just don't sue me... cos u'll get... well... most likely nothing cos thats all  
I have ^_^ ...   
  
The Diary of Mischa Lecter  
  
Hannibal stood staring down at the grave. His aging maroon eyes were filled with sadness. We  
can see them only by the soft glow of the setting sun in the distance. He holds his right hand over  
his heart, in which is enclosed a rose and a few blooms of lavender. The more the dim sun dips  
behind the trees which surround this courtyard of the dead, the more the eyes of Hannibal Lecter  
weep. For the first time in many, many years, we see a tear roll down Hannibal's face.   
  
Clarice Starling, who's own aging was beginning to become apparent, approached gently the side  
of her husband, even though under the circumstances they could never legally become married.  
She rested her head upon his shoulder, which became a signal that she thought they should leave.  
Hannibal stared down to the grave one last time before he dropped the flowers and watched them  
flutter gracefully and land peacefully on the stone. He took the hand of his wife and walked off in  
the opposite direction of the sunset. But even after they were miles away from the site, the image  
of the grave still burnt clearly in his mind.   
  
Mischa Maru Altamonte  
30 Dezember 1941 -  
28 Marz 1995  
Frau und Mutter geliebt.   
  
It had taken him so long to find her. All his life, she had been the one waking him from his sleep,  
screaming in his dreams, whispering throughout the day. He would have given anything to see her  
again. To see that look in her eyes whenever she spotted the color purple, to watch her hair  
flowing in the wind, to smell her dresses and hair ribbons after she had played in the flowers all  
day, to touch her damp skin after she had taken a bath. He longed to be near her again, every  
second of his day.   
  
It was Clarice who had invented the idea. Smart, lovely Clarice. The fallen angel. He loved her,  
but she could never be a replacement for Mischa. No one could ever replace her...   
  
Clarice had made tea, which she had learned to love to do, and brought some out to the small  
balcony of the house. As she poured some for both of them, she thought aloud about many things.  
There was a long silence of her voice before she said "Hannibal, do you ever think that there may  
be the slimmest chance that Mischa may still be alive?"  
  
Hannibal dropped his empty tea cup and it shattered on the balcony floor. Clarice jumped at the  
sound, but Hannibal just sat there, staring down at it, waiting for it to bring itself back together.  
After a short while, when nothing happened, he walked into the house, leaving Clarice alone.   
  
He didn't know how she did it, but a few weeks later, Clarice walked in with a photograph and  
asked simply "Do you know this girl?" He had taken the picture into his hands and stared at it,  
realizing immediately who it was. He said nothing, but he looked ahead for what seemed like an  
eternity before handing Clarice the picture and speaking one word, "Mischa".   
  
That's how it all started. Before he even got that chance to truly realize what was going on,  
Hannibal was staring down at the letter which stated Mischa had been killed in a fire six years  
ago. The disappointment was heartbreaking, he was looking so forward to seeing her again.  
Though Clarice cried after reading the letter, he never did. He just sat, staring into space, into  
those tiny molecules of air which held the faithful spirit of the girl he had once knew so well. But  
staring down at her grave, at the grass covering her decomposed body, a whole new feeling had  
overwhelmed him.   
  
The plane landed in Dublin, where Hannibal and Clarice, or shall we say Dr. and Mrs. Canfield,  
had made their new home. Their drive home was silent, as well as dinner and the rest of the  
evening. Clarice wanted to say something, but she didn't know how to say it or how to put it. She  
could only sit back and marvel at the blur in the eyes of her husband that she had never seen  
before.   
  
A tear rolled down Clarice's cheek as she walked into their bedroom. She picked up the package  
which had brought the news of Mischa's death. Inside it was a small silver box with a key on a  
necklace in which to open it. The first thing Hannibal had opened was the letter, and at reading it,  
he insisted that they drop everything to visit the grave. Clarice could do nothing but agree. But  
now, staring down at the box, she wondered if they had made a mistake.   
  
She walked into the kitchen gracefully, almost with silence as she sat the box down in front of  
him.   
  
"This also came in the package. I'm assuming it belonged to, belonged to her."  
  
Hannibal looked down at the box. "Thank you," he whispered as he began to examine it. The  
silver was outlined to show angels singing praises to the Heavens. He ran his finger around the  
one in the center. It had an eerie resemblance to his beloved sister. He picked up the small silver  
key, in the shape of a heart, and twisted it into the small keyhole. The lid popped open to show  
the red velvet lining. It softly began to play the old Wizard of Oz song, Somewhere Over the  
Rainbow. One could tell by the kinks and missing notes that this small box had been used many  
times before.   
  
Hannibal looked inside. Sitting on the bottom was an old book with a blue plaid cover. It looked  
as if it may have once had a lock, but one couldn't be sure. On top of the book was a dark purple  
heart charm on a gold chain. Hannibal picked it up and flipped it over. On the other side was  
printed "Mischa" in gold letters. He couldn't fight the tears welling in his eyes as he looked onto  
the belongings of the girl he had loved for so long. Carefully, he put the necklace back into the  
box and removed the book. Opening it gently, he turned to the first page.   
  
There was a writing, it's beauty unexplainable by words. It reminded Hannibal of Mischa's own  
beauty, reminded him of staring into her eyes.   
  
Mischa Altamonte were the only words printed on the page.   
  
Gently, Hannibal turned the page and began his journey into the mind of little Mischa Maru  
Lecter.   
  



	2. The Diary

Chapter Two   
  
August 24, 1952  
  
Hello! I should tell you who I am, right? Well, my name is Mischa Altamonte. (My middle name  
is Maru, how awful! I hate it, I really do!) I was adopted and I hate my parents. So much. I don't  
remember who my real parents were, I don't remember their names or anything about them. The  
only thing I do remember is I had a brother. I think his name was Hannibal or Howard, but I do  
not know for sure. Anyway, Satine, my nanny, she bought you for me for my tenth birthday, but I  
never used you before. I never really liked writing, but I do love painting! And singing! They're  
both so much fun! I don't have many friends, they all seem to think I am strange. They call me a  
goody two shoes and they say I come from another planet because I am much too smart to go to  
school with them. I do not understand them. Well, Satine just told me that our dinner is ready, so  
I must be going or mother will become angry with me. Goodbye.   
  
Mischa  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
December 30, 1952   
  
Diary,   
  
I told you I do not like writing very much. I am sorry I have not wrote in such a long time.  
Today is my birthday. Mother and Father bought me a lovely new dress. It is green velvet. They  
say I am to wear it to church on Sunday. Satine bought me a new book! It is called David  
Copperfield. It is by Charles Dickens, who's writing I strongly admire. I would say that I want to  
be just like him, but my writing skills keep me from speaking those words. I hate my Mother and  
Father. Mother, when I use improper English, she smacks my face very hard. She was raised  
Italian and only spoke that language until she was fifteen. She always says that she does not  
want me to be like her. Secretly, I do not want to be like her either. Father, he is never home. He  
drinks a lot and often works late. I see Mother cry a lot, but I find that her pain brings me joy.  
My life is horrible because of her. I try telling Satine how I feel, but Satine, who was raised in an  
orphanage, keeps telling me that things could be much worse. I do not see how. I have no  
friends, and my family does not care. Sometimes, before I fall to sleep, I wonder about my  
brother. Would he care? I hope he would. I want to find him very badly. Satine has just  
announced that Mother says I should go to bed now. I do not want her to be angry with me.  
Forgive me for leaving, Diary. Goodbye.   
  
Mischa  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
December 25, 1956  
  
Diary,   
  
It's Christmas today. In five days I will turn fifteen. It's very exciting for me. My school says  
that I have a very high intelligence level for someone my age, and turning fifteen means I will be  
graduating from school! Finally, after all these years of torture, I will be off on my own. I'm  
going to college in America. I plan on becoming a psychiatric, I don't know why, but the human  
mind has always interested me. I have finally made friends, and diary, you'll never guess, but I  
am in love! His name is Antonio, and he's an extremely handsome fifteen year old who will also  
be graduating with me. He's going to be attending the same college as I am. We plan on  
marrying after we both graduate. Oh, Diary, you just don't know what it's like to be in love!  
  
But now, onto something different. Something I've been thinking a lot about lately. My brother.  
I'm pretty sure his name is Hannibal. I remember his face, his eyes... I remember everything I  
can. I miss him. I hope and pray every night that he is alive and that one day I will meet him. I  
love him. I always will. I'm not sure how we got separated. My parents tell me that as a child, I  
was going to be killed, but somehow, by some miracle, I was saved. I came out of it with a hunk  
of my hair and a tiny sliver of my ear missing. Well, the bell just rang, meaning that Jadzia, the  
new nanny (Satine died from a heart attack a few years back. May she rest in peace), has  
decided that it's time for me to go to bed. I will write again soon, Diary. Goodbye.   
  
Mische   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
January 16, 1957  
  
Diary,   
  
I hate my parents! They are keepi  
  
Hannibal flipped the pages to find where the entry continued, but the next pages were torn from  
the small book. He turned to the next page which remained in the journal.   
  
March 19, 1975   
  
Diary,   
  
I haven't written in well over fifteen years. Much has happened. Mother died in depression after  
she found about Marchele's pregnancy. Mom pleaded with Dad to leave Marchele, but he kept  
saying that he couldn't leave a pregnant woman. I don't blame him. My father was a jerk.   
  
After Mom's death, I divorced Michael. I was sick of the emotional abuse. He thought he could  
control me. No one can control me. It wasn't soon after the divorce that I moved to America and  
came back into contact with Antonio, who still happened to be single. We married, and within a  
month I was pregnant with little Satine, named after the one woman that I loved so much. Satine  
is three now, so as you can see, she wasn't born that long ago. Those have been the highlights of  
my life, which I can say is a lot better now than it ever was before.   
  
But there is still one thing missing, and it will always be missing. I miss the love of my brother. I  
would give anything to see him again. He means the world to me. All those years back with my  
parents, he was the tread that I held onto. His memory was the only thing that kept me alive. His  
memory will keep me alive forever.   
  
Love and Peace always,   
  
Mischa Marie (Finally after all these years I think to change it!)   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
December 31, 1976  
  
Floating into innocence  
While shifting into gear  
Leaving behind all infidelities  
As I give away my fear  
Ripping open all the sores  
Of the ingrown wounds   
Reminding myself all the pain  
Will be over soon  
Please tell me that there is  
Much more to life than this  
Than sitting around waiting  
For a first love, first touch, first kiss  
Please tell me I'm not useless  
Not as worthless as I seem  
Because once upon a time  
There had been a little girl with a dream  
But all those dreams are all gone now  
Shattered away like glass  
She watches it happen before her eyes  
Worries grow into a mass  
So you can sit and watch this girl   
And you can make her life a miss  
Or you can be the different one  
The one that makes her life worth more than this  
  
I'm so sick of Antonio doing all the work around here! I'm going to help out! I really want to  
start publishing my writing. As a child, I said I never liked writing, but I guess the wind will  
blow. I have so many more poems. I only wish they could be better.   
  
March 15, 1977  
  
I finally have a better poem! Perhaps this one will be published.   
  
Memories of the Past  
  
It's kinda funny what we do  
Kinda funny what we say  
We say "Don't worry about the past,  
Worry about today."  
  
But it's not today that really hurts,   
Today's feelings never last.   
The only things that hurt in life  
Are the memories of the past.   
  
If I only gave my worries  
To the problems of today  
I wouldn't worry where you are  
Wouldn't worry where you stay.   
  
If I lived my life in the present  
You wouldn't be in my mind  
But in this life we live three ways  
One of them being past time.   
  
I live my life for the future  
But in my life you cast  
Shadows of spring and autumn  
Shadows of the past.   
  
It's kinda funny what we do  
Kinda funny what we say  
We say "Don't worry about the past,  
Worry about today."  
  
In today's life we make memories,  
Memories that will last,   
But yet we dwell back to that place  
To the memories of the past.   
  
I dedicate that to my brother. No matter what I do, I always remember him. Rather I like it or  
not, he will always be a part of my life. I only wish I knew him.   
  
Mischa   
  
Alright... that's all for now.. Praise me, flame me... I don't care, just please comment... if u have  
a major flame... which I am assuming I'm gonna get being that this sucks so bad... please send it  
to WhyHelloClarice7@aol.com ... Please tell me what I can do better... I would love to improve  
as a writer... and I don't want to ruin a great story... which I have probably already done... yup,  
alright... hope u enjoyed... or became amused... *shrugs*... just hope I cured ur bored.... okie, buh  
byes :)  
  
~*~Melissa~*~ 


	3. The Diary cont.

Hmmm... I'm back with my horrible work once again ^^... I know you say it's not horrible, but.... I don't know, I'm just paranoid I suppose. Well, there's not much more here, but it will be finished soon. If you feel the need to flame me, my address has been changed to CLecter2005@aol.com. Yeah, anyway, now READ! and I'm going to attempt to use HTML, so if it comes out weird, forvive me :)  
  
Chapter 3 - The Diary of Mischa Lecter  
  
iJuly 18, 1977  
  
The past torments me.   
  
I have the perfect life, have you realized that? I do.   
  
I married my first love, who I still am in love with madly, and I have a beautiful daughter with him.   
  
Satine's five now. She doesn't look like either of us, really, but she looks so familiar. Her eyes have such an original color, tone, and depth to them. It's indescribable. But I know I've seen it before, if I could only remember where.   
  
People say I'm a very intelligent person, but reading back on my journal, it never reflects that. I live my life in a lie, this is the only place I can be completely honest with myself. Mother found this and read this once. She smacked me so hard it knocked the wind out of me. And she told me I couldn't go to America to become a psychiatric. So I never did. I married someone I never loved, never could love, the main reason being because I was in love with someone else.   
  
And now I've married that man. The one I was in love with all along. I have the most gorgeous daughter anyone could wish for, and she is just like her father. I should have no other wishes, but I do. I don't know exactly what I'm hoping for. Just something, anything, that would make me feel more useful to this Earth, to this hell which we've all adapted to.   
  
Sometimes I feel as if I don't wish to live.  
  
  
  
January 28, 1987  
  
The past bothers me. A lot more than one would think.   
  
I should win an Academy Award for my acting. Every moment of my life I'm acting. Watching my time ticking away like a clock which never dies. Tick tock, tick tock. It runs through my mind.   
I watch my daughter grow, I watch my husband age. It's a beautiful thing to be able to just sit back and stare at life. But somehow, I just still feel as if something's missing.   
  
I haven't seen him all my life. Why is it that I feel myself missing him so much?   
  
August 17, 1978  
  
It's one of those situations  
Where you just don't wanna deal  
It's one of those emotions  
That you just don't wanna feel  
It's where you're always hungry  
When it's a never ending meal  
Yes, that's how life is  
On the journey to something real  
  
Really, that didn't turn out that well.   
  
December 31, 1978  
  
No one accepts anything different. It's as if they're afraid to realize that there really is a world beyond their own.   
  
Satine's beautiful. Her long black curls and dark maroon eyes are like no other I have ever before, lest I look into my own. But her's, her's are even darker, ever deeper. Through them you can see everything. They are like the windows to her soul. Mine, mine are just dull and strange.   
  
Satine's intelligence level is high above normal. She will turn seven in February and she's already in the fourth grade. They are thinking of putting her in the sixth grade next year. I look outside the window and see little children running and laughing. I see them playing together happily. I look back into my own home and I see my daughter sitting in a corner with a pile of books, reading them one after another, her eyes sparkling with every new word or fact she discovers. Sometimes, she'll run up to me ecstatically to tell me what she has learned.   
  
Unfortunately, because of her beauty and intelligence, the other kids make fun of her whenever they get the chance. I try to ignore it, but as I walk down the halls of her school, I hear the whispers of the jealous parents. They whisper about my eyes, about my hair. When they actually have enough sense to remember who's mother I am, they whisper about Satine's looks and her brilliance as well. Nothing ever bothers me, except for once when I heard some mother snicker that Satine was an alien, as in from another planet. It brought back the insults from my own childhood. I turned and insulted her back as she covered her child's ears. Looking back on it, it's quite amusing.   
  
Antonio wants to move. He wants to go to Germany, where his parents decided to move. That's all I need, to live closer to my in-laws. What great fun that will be. I know Satine would love it there, being closer to her Nana and Papa, and learning another language. She'll probably speak it fluently before either of her parents or grandparents do. Antonio says children will be different there, that they won't be as cruel as they are in America, that they'll accept our daughter and that she'll finally have friends. Growing up in Italy, I say kids will be kids.   
  
God, my own husband can't even accept our daughter. He's her father, he's supposed to love her for who she is. I don't understand what's wrong with the world.   
  
I wish I could only fix it and make it right.   
  
Mischa  
  
  
  
December 25, 1979  
  
Christmas.  
  
It should be a time of happiness, joy, and giving.   
  
Around my home, it's far from those things.  
  
All that goes on around here is arguing. Satine asked for books for Christmas, all she wanted was books. But Antonio insisted that we should buy her toys so that she may become "normal". I managed to scrape up some money and make it out to the book store to purchase a few for her myself. As she opened the toys, she did nothing but toss them aside. But as she opened the books, she dropped everything and began to read. Antonio was royally angry when he noticed. He took me aside and began to yell about how Satine needs to have fun, how she reads too much, how she's "weird". He's her father, I believe he should accept her for who she is. Is this the reason my parents were always harsh to me? I was too smart for them?! God, help me.   
  
  
  
March 21, 1980  
  
Antonio is worried about me. He says I mope around and cry and whine too much. He says I'm too worried about our daughter, and he says I just don't care about anything anymore. He wants me to see a shrink. God, that's what I wanted my profession to be and here he wants me to go and visit one like the scene of seeing someone living my dream would have no effect on me whatsoever.   
  
Satine's in eighth grade now. She may be going to the high school next year, it really depends on how she seems to handle older children. If not, she'll stay in the ninth grade at the same school she goes to now. I don't know what I wish for her anymore.   
  
December 7, 1980  
  
I visited the shrink today.  
  
He diagnosed me with depression.   
  
I don't understand how or why. I don't feel depressed. I just wish I could run away from this all.   
  
The shrink's name was Hannibal Caudal. Hearing that name makes me think back to my brother. I see his face, his smile, his eyes. I think of him every time I look to Satine. She has an exact copy of his eyes. Why do I miss him? I knew him so long ago, yet it's as if he died yesterday. I speak of him often here, in my diary, for I never say a word about him to anyone in my life. If I did, I think they would believe I was crazy, worrying over someone who's most likely dead. Perhaps I am.   
  
By the way, we're leaving to move to Germany next month. We're staying with Antonio's parents until we find a home of our own. Fun...  
  
January 30th, 1981  
  
Germany. We live two blocks over from Antonio's parents. Satine loves them to death, she begs me to take her over there everyday, and on most occasions she gets her way. I'm sorry, but I just cannot stand to be around them. Perhaps it's a woman thing? But no matter what I do, there's criticism. I can't do this, I can't do that. This is wrong, this is right. Blah, blah, blah. And, Good Lord, when they visited the house the other day... well, we just won't get into that.   
  
Satine begins school tomorrow. There is only one English speaking teacher and she's only been speaking German for three weeks now, though she has picked up fast. She'll probably do very well. She'll be in 10th grade at age nine. Antonio doesn't think it very well for her, but what else can I do? She can't stay cooped up in the chambers of her mind, that's what my parents forced upon me, I understand how if feels and it is not fun to deal with.   
  
Doctor's appointment tomorrow. I've been having stomach cramps lately and I'm not quite sure what is wrong. But with German speaking doctors, I don't know exactly how far I'm going to get with them anyway. Even if they did find something wrong, they probably wouldn't know how to express it to me. Oh well, if I died at an early age, that would be alright, too. I'm not quite sure why we are here anyway.   
  
January 31st, 1981   
  
  
Great day. Perfect day. No better feeling in the world.  
  
I'm pregnant. I'm thirty-nine years old, but I am pregnant. And I swear that there is no better feeling in the world. /i   
  
Anyway, there you have it for the time being :) now, look at that box.... it does have a purpose u know :) 


End file.
